


Counting the Beats

by Mira



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:21:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from <a href="http://homepages.wmich.edu/~cooneys/poems/Graves.beats.html"> the Robert Graves poem</a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Counting the Beats

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [ the Robert Graves poem](http://homepages.wmich.edu/~cooneys/poems/Graves.beats.html).

Billy stands on the shingle of the cold northern shore and watches the waves roll in and out. He is wearing a wetsuit, and his board stands next to him. It is battered and dented, but freshly waxed. It smells of salt and sea and peppermint.

In a moment, he will push it into the grey, cold waters and paddle out to sea. But for now, he just stares west, to where the sea and sky merge into a dull grey. He cannot tell where the sky begins and the sea ends. From where he stands, they are one.

In a moment, he will start into the water. It will be breathtakingly cold, and he knows from years of experience that the wetsuit will take long minutes to form a protective seal of warm water around him. But he must suffer through the shock, trying not to think about it even as it steals the air from his lungs.

~ ~ ~

"What did Dom have to say?"

Billy stared at the letter in his hand. Pursing his lips, he shook it irritably. "Wants me to be his best man," he finally said.

"His best -- oh, Billy! That's wonderful! Oh," she mused, staring off into space. Billy felt a flash of guilt. Dom was younger than he; why would he marry when Billy had not? "When? What does he say? Is he marrying that nice girl we met on Hawaii, what was her name?"

Billy silently handed her the letter, almost happy to have it out of his hands. Yes, he was marrying the nice girl from Hawaii. And she was a nice girl. Pretty, of course, but intelligent and sweet. Not American, too, which for some reason had become important to Billy, that Dom not marry outside.

Billy shook his head, and smiled at Ali's puzzled quirk at him. "I'm fine," he answered, and kissed her swiftly. "But I'm goin' surfin' for a bit. Do y'mind?"

"No, oh, damn, look at the time." She finished her tea and rose. "I'll read this while I get ready. Home late again, remember."

"I remember," he called after her, smiling at her energy so early in the morning. He yawned and stretched, and fixed himself another cuppa. He'd be off once she'd gone. Maybe he should ask someone to come along, but he felt like being alone today. To think about Dom. Married.

"Where're they getting' married?" he called out to her, but she was brushing her teeth and couldn't hear. Not that it mattered. He'd go wherever Dom was. Occasionally Ali would be irritated at his willingness to follow Dom. "He says 'jump,' and you say, 'how high?'" she had accused him before. A bit true, he admitted, but same for him with Dom. Billy knew he could ask anything of Dom. Anything.

He spooned sugar into his mug and thought about what he might ask of Dom.

~ ~ ~

"Toffee pops."

"Oh, Christ, your teeth are gonna fall out, Dominic. What else is on the list?"

Dom tossed another box into the trolley, smiling at Billy. "Muesli. What kind?"

"Plain."

"They don't have plain, Bills. Look. How about this -- manukau honey."

"No honey, honey. Isn't there just plain then?" Billy peered at the plastic packets. Behind him he could hear Dom rattling the trolley and dreaded learning what he was tossing into it.

"Billy, look. Lamb. Lots and lots of lamb."

Billy grabbed a packet of muesli and turned to find Dom at the end of the aisle, staring into a freezer. Billy walked to him and peered over his shoulder. "Bugger me, but that is a lot of lamb." He bent over the case and read the labels. "Lamb chops, lamb knuckles, lamb racks, lamb spare ribs, lamb steaks. Fucking Christ, but that's a lot of baby lambs."

"Look here," Dom said, pointing. "Here's its mum. Sheep hearts and sheep kidneys."

"Fuck." They stared in awe at the display, then turned in unison. "Veg and pasta soup, don't you think?" Billy asked.

Dom nodded.

~ ~ ~

On the cold stony shore, Billy stares out at the North Sea, remembering. Arguing over hob-nobs, chicken-flavoured potato sticks, Choysa's classic tea bags. Pushing the trolley together, Dom wrapping his arms around Billy, tickling him, deciding their next meal, which beer, which brand of kitchen towel . . .

He takes a deep breath. The water looks so cold and grey, nothing like the blue of the Pacific, where he'd learnt to surf. Not even on the coldest day on South Island did the water look or smell like this. This ocean is saltier and greyer. He starts into the water, the shock of cold stealing his breath. The tide's coming in, and the force of the waves nearly shoves him back on shore. He clutches his board tighter and pushes out, fighting against the tide, resolute and determined.

~ ~ ~

Billy hated being cold. He'd hated it at Moria, when his feet inside their hobbit prosthetics ached and burned with it, and he hated it now, squashed together with the others, huddled between Sean and Dom, trying to leach body heat from them. "Why are we here?" he moaned, shivering so hard his teeth ached.

"Making movie history," Dom said, pulling Billy closer to him. Sean sighed and wrapped his elven cloak more tightly around himself. On his other side, Elijah snored softly; Billy envied his ability to sleep anywhere.

"I'm sick of it," Billy whispered into Dom's cold ear. It was true; he was sick of it, but he didn't want everyone to know, only Dom. He just wanted to be warm, preferably in a warm pub somewhere, playing pool, a draught of something balanced precariously on the edge of the pool table. He shivered again, and Sean pulled his arm from the cloak and spread his hand around Billy's neck. He was warm, even sweaty, and Billy relaxed into it. With Dom on one side and Sean on the other, he might survive this wretched pre-dawn setup.

"You gonna be all right, Bills?" Dom whispered, and Billy rested his head against Dom's bony shoulder.

"I'll live," he promised. He saw Dom and Sean glance at each other before he shut his eyes. If Elijah could sleep, maybe so could he.

He woke to Dom gently shaking him, his breath tickling Billy's neck. "Hey," he said sleepily, and stretched. The air was still gelid, but he was packed tightly between his friends, people protecting him.

"Time to rock and roll," Sean said, standing up and pulling Elijah with him. They both stretched, Elijah blinking sleepily. The sun still hadn't risen, but a pinkish-gold highlighted the east, bringing the serrated peaks into sharp contrast with the soft sky behind them. A pastel light fell over their faces, a cold light in the cold air, beautiful and otherworldly.

He rose, staring into the east. Then Caro shouted something, making him jump, and he laughed at himself. "Still asleep," he said, but Dom slung his arms around Billy and hugged him.

"Silly bugger," Dom whispered. Then the four of them were under siege, being attacked with combs and tiny brushes and even a seamstress picking at a tear in Merry's vest. He watched Dom enjoy the attention, laughing when Dom caught sight of him and winked.

Yeah, he was fuckin' miserable, and his feet still ached with cold, but with Dom grinning at him and pretty girls tugging at his clothes and combing his wig, he didn't feel much like complaining. A bit of porridge would be waiting for him, and then beer and pool tonight, just like in his dream, and a warm bed before starting all over tomorrow.

"Come on," Dom shouted as he took off, and Billy darted away, happy to be moving, happy to be Pippin chasing his older cousin through the forest, unaware of everything rushing toward them, in Middle-Earth and elsewhere.

~ ~ ~

LA was warm. Mexico was warm. Morocco, that was downright hot. New Zealand could be hot, too, boiling hot, but mostly he remembered it as perfect. Even though he could make himself remember being miserably cold, nearly weeping in frustration, now that he was back in Glasgow, he thought of it as perfect. As a paradise utterly lost to him.

He'd wait for the bus, arse freezing on the damp cold bench, and remember racing into the surf. Standing in a queue, he would catch a glimpse of his reflection and not recognize the lines around his mouth and between his brows. Where had Pippin gone? Where had Billy disappeared to? This tired man buying a newspaper had nothing to do with him. He was recognized, and birds still flirted with him, making him laugh, and he loved it, he fuckin' loved it, but they couldn't be with him every minute of every day. Conventions were lovely, surrounded by cheering fans and anxious photographers; he went to as many as he could.

On Sundays, he went to the Church of Scotland where he would kneel in thanks for the experience and his good fortune, and for the memories he cherished and carried next to his heart. He'd put his hands over his face and tremble in the presence of God who had taken so much from him and given him so much back, and then taken it away yet again.

He bought a little flat, all his own. Not wildly expensive; he was too cheap for that, but a nice place, with a guest room for his friends and for his niece and nephew to spend the night. A little front garden and a tiny balcony, only wide enough for a chair he dragged out to sit and drink in the evenings.

Sitting out there one night, on his fourth beer, his chair tipped back against the bricks of his flat, Billy would watch the stars, so few over Glasgow, and think of nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just the taste of the beer, the rough bricks against the back of his head, and nothing. Lovely, really, to think of nothing, to let the universe move on as it would. Wish for nothing, he told himself, taking another sip. Be at peace.

That night, like many nights, he was postponing going to bed. It was later than usual; he'd been to his local, watched some telly, re-read the newspaper, brushed his teeth, but couldn't bring himself to turn in. So he had popped yet another beer and settled out back, bundled in his warmest clothes. Going to bed -- maybe he could just avoid it altogether. He didn't know why he dreaded it so, but each night he turned in later. He'd sleep on the sofa in the lounge, and one uncomfortable night in a chair in the kitchen, head propped on the table.

But he didn't want to go to bed.

"Honey?"

He shot forward, jarring his teeth and spilling his beer as he sat up. "Yeah, yes, love. Out here."

"Again?" She shut the kitchen door behind her, rubbing her arms as she walked to him and settled against him. He put his arm around her waist, resting his hand on the sharp bone of her hip. She kissed the top of his head and took the beer from him, sipping it. "Bit flat."

He shrugged. "Not really drinking it. Just somethin' to hold."

"Come in," she murmured, bending down to kiss his ear. "Come in, my love."

He sighed and straightened his back. It was cold out. The night air cut into him, and he did so hate the cold. She took his hand and led him inside, her hand warm on his.

They made love that night, and he was glad she'd persuaded him to come in. Didn't really know what was wrong with him, sitting up all hours of the night, alone and cold. Silly bugger, he told himself as he watched her drift off to sleep. Her breathing evened out, her face relaxed, and he lay next to her, watching her breasts rise and fall, waiting for sleep to take him.

~ ~ ~

"I can't bear it," he said to his beer. Ali was gone, to Perth for two weeks, and each night seemed emptier than the last. He was between jobs, waiting to hear on three separate parts, two films and a play in Edinburgh. Just him and the beer, with a lovely visit on the blower each night from his increasingly busy girlfriend. "I miss you," he repeated; he'd told her that each night, and she'd laugh, her wonderful bubbling laugh that he loved. He could imagine her face bright with laughter, her beautiful smile, but so fuckin' far away.

"Lonely, you?" She laughed at that each time. "You've friends everywhere in the world, love. Just open the door and walk down the street. The girls and the boys follow you, don't they?"

Yes, it was true. But what of it? Who was there to hold him when the night pressed in on him? Who was there when he woke, heart pounding and mouth dry? "I love you," he'd say, and she'd laugh a bit more.

"You are the loveliest man," she'd said tonight. What the fuck did that mean?

He stared at his reflection in the kitchen window. It was too cold to sit out on his little balcony; he should get himself to his local. "You'll be so far away," he'd complained the day she'd left. She'd smiled at him and then climbed into the bus with the rest of her troupe, all waving ecstatically at him. She'd never answered that. He supposed he wasn't being fair; he was gone a great deal of the time. How sexist, to expect her to stay at home with him. What a jerk.

He rested his head in his hands.

~ ~ ~

He woke slowly, groggy from too much beer and not enough sleep. Sighing, he rubbed his face and slowly rolled from the bed. He grabbed a flannel shirt hanging from the door knob and fumbled his way down the hall and to the front door.

There was no one there.

The icy air woke him instantly, and he peered left and right, but not a soul was out. Too cold, too late. Shutting the door, he leaned against it for a moment. Had he been dreaming?

But there was another knock. Irritated, he strode through the lounge into the kitchen and flung open the backdoor. No one there, of course; how could there be? He went out onto the balcony and searched carefully, but unless someone climbed the balcony from the flat below his, there was no getting to his backdoor.

He was freezing, curling his toes inside his too-thin socks, so he went back in, shutting and locking the door behind him. He was awake now, dammit.

He stood in the dark kitchen and listened. The night was deep and quiet; it was like being underwater, the silence thick and soft. He waited, listening to his pulse thud in his ears, finally putting a hand on his chest so he feel his heart beating. Still alive, he thought. Amazing what a man could live through.

Somewhere in the flat, a sharp rapping came. He started, biting his tongue in surprise.

He walked slowly this time, silently moving through the rooms. The streetlight angled past the nearly-closed curtains, the red numbers of a digital clock, the blue glow of the microwave's timer, these were the only lights he navigated by. The flat looked different in the half-light, less lived in, less real.

Through the kitchen, back into the lounge, into the hall, back to the front door -- locked and still shut. Up the hall to the guest room, empty, cold, and slightly dusty. The bathroom silent but for the drip of the tap in the sink, something he'd been meaning to fix for weeks now, but no hammering or squealing from the pipes. There was a faint smell of citrus, from the shampoo he'd brought back from the States, and the gleam of the glass shower doors reflecting back the dim light from the street. Nothing else, though. Nothing at all.

Finally back to his own bedroom, which smelt of him and old socks, a lonely smell. His alarm was digital; no ticking crept from it.

The knocking continued, though, and he moved quickly to the window, pulling back the curtain. He was on the first floor; no one could be tapping on this window. He unlocked it and pushed it up, leaning out into the cold night. It smelt faintly of diesel and damp, a city smell, like home.

"Who's there?" he whispered, a small cloud forming around his words. "Who?" But no one answered.

The knock, he decided shutting the window, was the empty space in his chest. He put his hand over his heart again; maybe that's what he was hearing. Just me, he thought as he climbed back into bed, struggling with the duvet. It's just me poor old heart I'm hearing.

The knocking continued, a bit softer. He pulled the pillow over his head.

~ ~ ~

The water is so fuckin' cold, it shocks the breath right out of him, like being kicked in the chest, and he gasps, coughs, and spits. He keeps pushing forward through the swells, clinging to his board. For some reason it's important that he do this: find a wave and ride it in. Just one good one, he promises himself. Just one and it'll be brilliant and all will be well and then it won't be so fuckin' cold.

So he forces himself to remain in the choppy water, blinking the water out of his eyes, the world prismed through the drops on his lashes. He remembers swimming in the Pacific, surrounded by friends, watching for sharks and seals. He's all alone here, and it's work, really, swimming in this thick heavy water, a stone soup to battle through. Impossible to imagine catching a ride in this, but he does, he wills it to happen.

Finally he turns his back on the horizon and climbs astride his board. Bobbing there, he watches the land, now shrunken and flat, as grey as the sky. He shivers and tries to breathe deeply, catching his breath.

_Shitty waves,_ he thinks, glancing again over his shoulder. But he's good, he can wrestle one ride out of them. His teeth chatter. His head hurts.

~ ~ ~

"Fuck!" he bellowed, sitting up in bed. Fuck the neighbours, this knocking had to stop now. He jerked on a pair of jeans and wrestled into a tee-shirt, then strode through his flat, switching on every light in every room. "Shut up!" he roared. "Shut the fuck up!"

There was no one in the flat; he'd known that already. There never was. Slamming open the front door, he looked up and down the street, but it was late, almost morning, not even the milkman was out.

The knocking was faint, a tiny pulse of a sound. He closed the door, gently, and rested his head against it. Bloody hell.

Feeling compelled, he walked to the kitchen and opened the door to the balcony, but of course, there was no one there. How could there be? He kicked at the chair he left out there, but it wasn't rattling against the bricks or door. There wasn't a breath of wind, and the stars glittered icily above him.

_I'm an idiot,_ he told himself, but he dutifully checked the pipes under the kitchen sink and then in the toilet. He'd fixed the drippy tap, so not even that faint noise could bother him. All his clocks were digital, even his wristwatch glowing faintly on the bedside table.

He returned to the kitchen and put on the kettle. No sleep again for him tonight, he knew. He was so tired that the world seemed dreamlike to him, a blur of pale colours. He settled at the kitchen table, where he had spent many evenings. Waiting for Ali to come home, waiting for sleep to come, waiting for word about a job. Waiting for life, to begin or to end; on nights like this, he wasn't sure which.

He stared at the clock above the cooker. How many hours earlier was it in Hawaii? He felt a sudden compulsion to call Dom. Would he be home? Working? Partying? With that nice girl?

Probably with that nice girl. He sighed and rested his head on his fist, watching steam coil out of the kettle. Maybe he shouldn't bother Dom. What could he do, anyway? Stop the knocking? Make Ali come home? Hardly.

The kettle began to whistle. He watched as it boiled until it shut itself off.

He knew he was dreaming. The colours were too saturated, the air too much like silk draped across his skin, to be real. Certainly the air smelled too sweet for Glasgow.

So he watched himself in the dream. He was lying on his stomach on a cool wooden floor; sunlight splashed over him, warming his legs. Before him was a draft of his and Dom's script. He held one of Dom's red biros and had been editing the script. A shadow fell across the pages, and he looked up to see Dom smiling down at him, sunshine burnishing his spiky hair. "Hey," Billy said, and reached up. Dom caught his hand and knelt in front of him.

"Hey," he replied. They swung their hands between them; Billy felt a smile build on his face as he gazed up at Dom. Dom sat in front of him, crossing his legs and bending forward as Billy pushed up to meet him in a kiss that even in his dream he knew he'd never shared with Dom. The press of Dom's lips against his, warm and moist and tasting slightly of the peppermint in his lip balm, was as heady as champagne, and Dom's hand sliding around Billy's neck sent a shock trembling through his body. He dropped the biro and crawled up Dom's body, clinging to him. Dom moaned and Billy licked his mouth and tongue.

He woke with a crick in his neck, a deep thirst for more than tea, and a longing for something he'd never had, a longing so powerful it made his very bones ache.

~ ~ ~

_Finally,_ he thinks, as the swell lifts him. He scrambles to his feet, crouching on the board, balancing carefully, then slowly rising as his speed increases. It's a shitty wave, nothing worth riding, but he takes pride in forcing a ride out of it, pushing it as hard as he can. He's smiling by the time he leans to one side and slips into the water. He grabs the board and kicks hard, heading back out. He got this one, but now he wants another. Greedy bastard, he tells himself, but it feels brilliant. He pulls himself onto the board again, rejoicing in the stretch of his muscles. He feels powerful and confident. This is why he left his warm home and drove so far.

When he's far enough out he turns again, facing land. His body remembers doing this as if he'd been surfing his entire life. He's trembling and knows he should go in, but he wants one more. Glancing behind him, he sees a possible wave curl toward shore. He begins paddling in anticipation, and when he feels its power, paddles harder and then clambers up, squatting awkwardly until he can rise. He jerks the board this way and that, forcing every inch. Not much, but it's all he'll get today.

At the last minute, before he steps off, he looks landward again. There's someone watching him. He's tempted to head out for another ride, but that would be showing off, and besides, he's freezing his balls off. When he scrambles onto the stony beach, his hands are wrinkled and he's shaking so hard he can literally hear his teeth click.

"You've no sense at all, have you, Boyd," Dom says, holding out a towel for him.

"What the fuck you doin' on this side of the world?" Billy asks, wrapping the towel around him. Dom takes his board and they walk to their cars. Dom props up the surfboard and opens the passenger door to his rental.

"Climb in. Still a bit warm."

"Ta," Billy stutters, and obeys. He watches in a haze as Dom pulls off his booties and massages first his left then his right foot. The engine is running, the heater blowing on him, but still he shakes. "Stayed out a bit too long," he admits, rubbing the towel over his face.

"Lij would call you a dumb ass," Dom says, bending Billy's knees and tucking his feet into the car. "Trying to kill yourself?"

"No. Just needed --" But Billy isn't certain what he needed. Whatever it was, he doesn't need it anymore, not with Dom bending over him, his hand warm on Billy's face. "Missed you," he finally admits.

Dom beams at him. "Not as much as I missed you. Why haven't you been answering my email?"

Billy has no answer for him. He stares at his feet, small and pink, and curls his toes into the coarse carpet underneath them.

"We should get that wetsuit off you," Dom finally says. "Here, stick your leg out. I'll pull."

Billy obeys; it's easier than arguing, and he doesn't want to argue anyway, not really. The stretchy fabric clings to him, and water pools in the car, but Dom doesn't seem to care. He carefully works the suit off Billy, keeping him covered with the damp towel, and then handing him his own sweatshirt, with the word TRUTHSEEKER silkscreened across the chest.

When Billy is dressed and warm, Dom sits next to him and takes his hand. "Didn't answer my question," he finally says.

Billy shrugs. He still doesn't know how to answer the question. He hangs onto Dom's hand, though. He yawns.

Dom switches hands, and then puts his arm around Billy's shoulder, drawing him down so his head rests against Dom's shoulder. Billy relaxes into Dom's embrace. "You're the last person on earth I expected to see today," he murmurs.

"I heard from Ali," Dom says. Billy raises his head so quickly that he smacks Dom in the chin. "Ow," they both say.

"What did you hear?"

Dom rubs his chin and looks thoughtfully at Billy. "That you're not doing so well. Actually, I called her. When you never answered."

"I didn't not answer," Billy says quickly. "I just, you just didn't give me enough time to answer. I was thinking." He says the last bit slowly and with as much dignity as he can while rubbing the crown of his head.

"Well? What have you thought?"

He shrugs again. "You hungry?"

"No, I'm not fucking hungry. I'm here because I'm worried about you." Dom stares into Billy's eyes, and Billy thinks, as he has many times before, what beautiful eyes Dom has. The colour of the North Sea, and just as stormy right now.

"Sorry," he finally says. "Yeah. I'll be your best man. You don't even have to ask."

"Too fucking late for that," Dom says with asperity.

"Elijah gonna do it?"

"No, you arsewipe. It's off, everything's off." Dom looks out the window at the waves rolling in. Billy notices they're bigger; he could get a real ride out of these.

Feeling stupid, he says slowly, "By 'it's off,' you mean there's not to be a wedding? You're not getting married then?"

Dom nods, still staring out the window.

Billy nods to himself. "You gonna tell me why?"

"You gonna tell me why Ali lives in Perth now?"

"She went with her troupe. Ended up takin' a job there. It's not that far."

"Yeah, and the last time you saw her was . . ."

Now Billy stares out the window. The last time he saw her was the day she left for two weeks and never came back. Had her mum come by for her things, even.

"What are you doing, Billy? Why are you here?"

"It's me home, idiot."

"I'm not an idiot, and this is not your home."

Billy turns to face him, genuinely puzzled. "Well, if it isn't, I'd like to know where is."

Dom studies his face, and Billy suddenly realizes how closely they're sitting, how entwined in the backseat of a rental car. Dom's arm around him is comforting, his long fingers are laced with Billy's, and their thighs pressed tightly together. He hasn't touched another human being since Ali left, and his body aches for contact.

He remembers his dream, and trembles.

"Where's your home, Billy?"

He knows the answer, he can feel it in his heart, swelling in his chest, blocking his breathing, like a fucking aneurysm, some emotional angina, and it hurts, it fucking _hurts_, and he's afraid he's going to cry like a goddamn girl, a lass weeping over something she cannot have. He shivers violently, his muscles contracting fiercely, and Dom holds him tighter. "What's going to happen?" he whispers, and lays his head on Dom's shoulder again. "What's going to happen?"

He feels Dom press a tender kiss on the top of his head, right where he knocked into Dom's lopsided chin. "Let me in," Dom whispers. "Please, Billy. Let me into your heart. You're already so deep in mine that leaving would kill me." He kisses Billy again. "You don't want to kill me, do you? Think how mad my fans would be at you."

Billy laughs sadly, and puts his arm across the front of Dom, hanging onto him as if he were the surfboard in this storm-tossed ocean. "I'm so fucked," he said. "I can't sleep, I haven't found any work, my new flat is shite, Dom, I'm just --"

"Sh, sh. It's okay, Bills. I'm here now, and you'll sleep just fine, I promise. You come with me, okay? Will you do that, Bill?"

Billy trembles. He's almost gasping for breath. "Can I do that?" he wonders. "Can you?" He lifts his heavy head to look in Dom's beautiful eyes. "Can you, Dom? Do you know what you're asking?"

"Do you know?"

They stare at each other. Clouds are building up from the west, blotting out the setting sun. Billy feels Dom's breath on his face, his strong body holding him. At last Billy nods. "I know," he says. "I know what you're asking." He feels his face blush. "I bought a flat, y'know." Dom nods. "It sucks. I hate it. It's always cold and I think it's haunted and I just fuckin' _loathe_ it."

"Then come home with me. Okay? Will you do that?"

"Roommates?"

Dom grins at him, and wiggles his eyebrows. "Now who's the idiot?"

Billy can't help himself; he looks at Dom's mouth, the sharp teeth of his smile, his bad tongue, and then he leans forward and kisses Dom. He tastes exactly as Billy had imagined, but better, and they kiss in the growing dark on the rocky shore of the wrong ocean.

When they separate, Dom sighs happily, and Billy smiles. "Let's go home," Billy says, and he means wherever you go. _Wherever you go is my home,_ he thinks, smiling so hard his face hurts, and then Dom kisses him again and for the first time in years, Billy is warm and safe.

~ ~ ~

Not there but here,  
(He whispers) only here,  
As we are, here, together, now and here,  
Always you and I.

Billy will rise a bit earlier than Dom, who will sigh heavily in his sleep and roll onto his stomach, face pushed into the scrunched-up pillow. Billy will stand for a moment watching him. His feet on the wooden floor will be warm, sunlight splashing over them as he curls his toes with pleasure, and he will have woken with a smile.

He will fix them breakfast because he's that kind of man, who will eat a bowl of porridge every morning of his life, and now that he's with Dom, Dom will eat a bowl, too. They will putter in the kitchen, Dom checking his plants and his pets, six legged and four, and then they will race to the beach, surfboards waxed and ready, laughing as they splash into the water as warm as their bed, as warm as Dom's embrace.

Billy will wake Dom each day with a kiss and his smile, the smile that Dom will love and look forward to, morning and evening and middle of the night when they will turn to each other wakeful in gratitude and relief and love. He will kiss Dom in the morning, to wake him, and he will kiss Dom at the door when he leaves for his work, and he will kiss Dom in greeting upon his return.

"Hello," he will whisper, just before their kiss. "Hello, hello, hello."

* * *

Posted June 1, 2007


End file.
